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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392774">Look at the Flicka Dat Wrist (Dat Wrist!)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallowedground/pseuds/sallowedground'>sallowedground</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dysphoria, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Hand &amp; Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Poison Ivy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallowedground/pseuds/sallowedground</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ivy gets dysphoria and bottoms while harley does sick prankz</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Look at the Flicka Dat Wrist (Dat Wrist!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i got so mad at how cis fanfics are and how rarely i see trans narratives by trans people so<br/>i spent three days doing the only thing that could even partly address that problem. writing something EXPLICITLY trans.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Ohhhhh, sorry Red, am I in your way~," Harley asked playfully, her hips jutting out into sweet ole Pamela Isley's path. It was a bulls-eye, just as she planned. Hooking Ivy was similar to catching a fish, Harley needed the right bait and she needed to know how to wiggle it. She could feel Ivy's meat through all the layers of fabric between them, her painted clown booty was right on the money and Ivy would never be able to resist a lil bit of subtle, impromptu bump-n-grinding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of their rare peaceful days off together, Evil Labor Day, and they had spent it, well, mostly lounging around on the couch, watching "America's Most Trashy" in Ivy's apartment. Harley loved it there, it was so fresh, the air was so crisp and clean unlike the rest of Gotham. It was just so Poison Ivy and so not Harley Quinn. Even the building, a high-rise penthouse that was "above it all" and bursting with life, felt reflective of its owner. The disparate parts that seemed intrusive only managed to highlight that. There was nothing that could lessen just how Poison Ivy it all was. Even the comedy props, the clown noses and horns, and Harley's old dirty clothes seemed less "Claimed! In The Name Of Harley Quinn" and more "Poison Ivy Has A Pest Problem." Ivy seemed untouchable, for her enemies and her friends. All in all, their day spent together was intimate but very low intensity. Harley wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>explicitly</span>
  </em>
  <span> looking for more from Ivy but she wanted to get the ball rolling in the right direction with some well-timed, tasteful hints. Ivy was looking so naturally dashing in her ratty, oversized t-shirt and soft, gray chonies. Somehow she made effortless pajamas look appealing; Harley wanted to get inside them and share in that warm comfort. An electronic beep pierced the quiet atmosphere of Pamela's personal concrete jungle like a rock shattering glass. It was the perfect time to strike, she'd cut off her path, tilt at the waist, pretend to pick something up, the classic bend and snap. Smooth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, actually Harls, yeah, you are in the way, in fact. And I'm carrying a hot tray right out of the oven so. Can you move, a little, please?" Ivy's voice was sympathetic and understanding in a way that made Harley feel like an equal. Her tone was down-to-Earth and her eyes pleaded kindly for Harley to scoot. Harley locked eyes with Ivy carrying a fresh batch of piping hot weed brownies, their two favorite things combined into one perfect package. And speaking of "perfect packages", despite her tough girl act, Harley could feel her masterfully laid trap beginning to subliminally take hold inside Ivy's verdant body. To seal the deal, though? One last little motion, tip to base. The Clincher.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These are hot, I've got to put them down, c'mon. Choose any other time to do this. Really, I get it, just not right now, and then maybe we can talk about it. Or something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah, it'd sure be a shame if you dropped 'em~." Ivy didn't even realize the amount of potent Horny Clown Magic flowing through her was all. All these tricks got featured in the "50 Schemes to Drive Your Trans Supervillain Girlfriend Crazy" Cosmo special issue. Any second now and Ivy would go wild, primal, like an animal. As one of the few true meta-humans in Gotham, everyone knew she was a top-of-the-food-chain, big swingin' dick type. And nobody in the world could resist Harley Fuckin' Quinn In Her New Personally Branded Eco-Friendly Designer Lingerie, goddamnit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, it would be a shame, you're right. We worked hard to make these." Any second. She's so close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, fine, I'll just go around." What the fuck. Rejected. But it was a perfect plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the setback, Harley felt undeterred. She excitedly tumbled over to the sofa, accidentally </span>
  <em>
    <span>honk honk</span>
  </em>
  <span>ing a clown horn laying on the ground as she landed. She was positive that she could salvage the mood. She just needed to seduce </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Before we start anything, can we talk? For real though?" Ivy chimed up before sitting down on the sofa next to Harley. "I'm not really feeling it tonight, as far as uh…" Her voice trailed off but her posture finished the sentence for her. The Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Ph.D. that still rattled around in Harley's brain could easily recognize that she was crossing her arms and legs and looking down, classic posturing of someone feeling defensive and guilty, maybe even ashamed. But why? They locked eyes for a second and Harley waited for Ivy to say more, but the words didn't come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a little period of silence, she broke. "Alright, so we're off for tonight? I mean that's cool too don't get me wrong I wasn't expecting anything anyways like for real this is a no-pressure zone and you know me I'm down for anything anytime and sometimes that means I'm down for </span>
  <em>
    <span>NOT</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex </span>
  <em>
    <span>NOT</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now and you don't want to do anything if you don't have to do anything, wait those go the other way around what I mean i-" Messily, her words backflipped out of her mouth colliding in mid-air, recklessly trapezing off her tongue with nary a ringmaster in sight before Ivy's eventual interruption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. I don't care. Well. If you want, we can still be 'on,' I never said we weren't 'on.' It's just all body stuff, you know? I mean, you don't know but you know what I'm talking about. It's body stuff." Ivy scooted closer, her vision flitting out towards the city to avoid Harley's curious gaze. The dim lights shimmered, reflecting off the dirty bay water. "Harley, do you ever feel like you can't face yourself in the mirror? Like the acid that transformed you made you less than how you were before?" Harley's trained psychiatrist ears instructed her trained psychiatrist mouth not to answer, that these questions were purely rhetorical. Any answer Harley could give wouldn't be exact anyways, they'd only be approximations to what Ivy was expressing. There were days like that for her, though, where she looked at water rolling off her bleached skin in the shower and felt as if some of her fragile beauty had been bleached out too. The acid had treated it as a stain and took it from her, along with any semblance of her former life as a professional. After going through the clown acid, her psych CV seemed to get way fewer callbacks for some reason. Ivy continued shyly, "Some days more than others, it gets tough. It's not that we can't do anything tonight, I just don't know if I feel comfortable doing our usual stuff. I mean, we're not off or anything. I'm still down." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're still down to clown?" Harley grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"... til I'm dead in the ground…" Ivy sighed in faux abject shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shared a look and a smile, as warm and soft as the fresh edibles on the windowsill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, Ive, so what do you mean 'usual stuff'? What do you think is our 'usual stuff'?" Ivy's pretty green face turned a bashful beet red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I usually act one way and you usually do your whole shtick and we, you know. We make it happen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, do I know? What is 'We make it happen'?" Harley's eyebrow cocked. Harley did know, Harley knew exactly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're there for it, you know what I'm talking about!" Ivy shrugged dismissively as if trying to parry any offensive Harley was about to mount. Ivy's body lurched away in reflexive shock as Harley approached closer like a wary falcon sizing up a potential mouse to eat. Ivy was usually so good about covering up any slips of emotion but now she was wearing vulnerability like a thick cloak, weighing down her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, tell me more about my shtick, c'mon. What, you want to steal my bits? My sex bits?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile, ever so slight, spread across Pamela's face. "No, it's not like that, I could never deliver all of your horrible jokes without corpsing. In fact, I'm pretty sure nobody else in the world can deliver the line 'yay, creampies, my favorite' with a confidently straight face like you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> stop doing that one every time, by the way. Retire the joke." Her tone was stern but sweet, trying to cover for any past weaknesses shown. Harley did, for the record, manage to tell all of her jokes without laughing, no matter the situation. She had a rotating list of sex jokes written down in her evil badass HQ that she practiced when no one else was around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't understand. Comedy is all about timing. If I can only say 'yay, creampies, my favorite' when we aren't fucking, it won't be funny anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There is no shame in taking an old joke out back behind the shed and putting it down," Ive said to her, stone-faced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Next you're gonna tell me ya don't like the horn gag! Fine then!" Harley snaked over on top of Ivy's slender frame, pushing her down and menacing over her. She realized she wasn't making any progress where she wanted so she figured she'd need to turn up the heat. "You're deflecting! Why don't you tell me what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>want, Mrs. Dr. Isley-Quinzel? Say the words. That's all you need to do and then we can move on with this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What words? H-how am I supposed to know what you want me to say?" Ivy knew, Ivy definitely knew. One of Harley's legs crept up between Ivy's thighs with the weighty but controlled momentum of a world-class gymnast until it was pushing up against her hips. That nervous stutter was new, or maybe old but hidden well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell me how you feel. That's all I'm askin'." Harley rested a hand lightly across Ivy's frail collarbone. Up close and ignoring the green, nobody would guess the destruction this body could wreak upon the world. Ivy's silhouette was starkly visible through her baggy shirt as she laid down. Harley's hand dropped slightly, feeling her chest. Ivy was so soft, like a dew-kissed petal fluttering in a gentle breeze. It wasn't fair, it's not like anybody else can grow all the ingredients for luxury argan oil on a whim. She even smelled like flowers all the time, just naturally, no perfume needed. She was the meta-human pinnacle of beauty herself, weaponized down to her kisses. Even now, as emotionally open as she was being, a small flick of the wrist could outright murder Harley if she so chose. It was humbling for Harley to know any power she had over Ivy was on mutual terms. It was given, not taken. "What's the matter, Red? Clown got your tongue?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley craned down onto Ivy's lips and softly brushed her hand against Ivy's face. Exasperated and emotional, Ivy finally managed to squeak out a "Just… Be gentle with me. Please." Harley knew that Ivy had bottomed before but she said it felt 'a lifetime apart.' The person Ivy was back then was different from the person Harley knew now. Not that it mattered. Harley hiked her bare, toned leg up against Pamela's bulge while they kissed on the sofa. She could feel Ivy's heart pounding away, pumping endorphins to where her body needed them, through the soft thin fabric her leg pushed up against. Ivy was usually such a seductive and overpowering lover with all sorts of demands and ideas for ways in which Harley could prove herself useful. Such an opportunity for rakish mischief, real top-tier sexy clowning, only shows up rarely and Harley knew full well she'd have to make the most of this opportunity while it's available.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, then I'll take charge of ya. Gently." Harley smiled as her fingers quickly spidered their way up over Ivy's soft and fleshy thighs, under her baggy tee, and up to the hemlines of her tightly packed chonies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gently!" Ivy saw fit to tenderly interrupt with. She looked nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right… Gently." The tension between them was tight, each watching the other's eyes as they proceeded. Beads of sweat formed and fell off Harley's face. She had to try to minimize herself for the time being. Soon, though, she'd find her moment to strike. For now, it's not about her and her needs and all the things she'd want to do with Ivy's bits. Ivy's sex bits. Harley felt like a bomb defuser, warily hiking down her girlfriend's clothes trying not to set Ivy off. She'd need to work to build up some trust or goodwill before she could clown around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Harley inched the clothing down until it was around Ivy's mid-thighs. Released from its tight prison and under an old t-shirt, Harley could make out Ivy's entire length in all its… well, actually kinda average glory but it was cute and it fit her well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see how you're looking at it, I'm asking you kindly to not pretend it's a stand-up mic again," Ivy commented. Harley flinched. Bummer. Sometimes Ivy knows her thoughts before she even thinks them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trust me here! I can't get to work if you're all tense. You neeeed to relax and just trust me." As Harley said this, she flipped Ivy over so she was lying on her stomach and over Harley's lap. Ivy's knees buckled inward as Harley finally settled her in. "You know, it's not every night I can get you like this, Pammy. I don't want to let it go to waste." A devilish smile curled over her painted lips. Her fingers split Ivy's dignified cheeks apart and curled around Ivy's hole. Forbidden fruit laid embarrassingly bare to poke and prod at. What made Ivy react most? Did she seem to respond positively or negatively? If she had any weak points in that area, where? Harley's mind swirled with untamed curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy had buried her face into a pillow to muffle any uncontrollable sounds while Harley tested things out. She managed to pacify errant movements but it was readily apparent that she was struggling to hand over control. Harley slowed down a little and backed off Ivy's hole after spitting on it for lube. Gently. If she pounced too fast, she'd scare off the metaphorical prey splayed comfortably on her lap. "Ooo, where's that tough girl act now, huh? Quite a vanishing act she's got once you're bent over." She twirled a finger around the lightly lubricated hole, teasing it. Ivy </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> needed to loosen up. Slowly, the precise and methodical intrusion gained permission and access inside. She felt so different from the cis girls Harley's been with but similar in some ways. She hooked her fingers around to find the spot she was looking for, marked by a tiny bump. Bingo! As she pressed down, Ivy's overenthusiastic friend stiffly pushed into Harley's lap, demanding immediate attention, a request left unfulfilled. A small, eager wet mark could be felt, seeping through the t-shirt fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, it looks like we've got a little visitor!" Harley wanted a reaction she could read without seeing Ivy's face and she got one. The ego blow of her dick being a "little visitor" for the night caused Pamela to cringe into herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I this mean to you when we're together?" Ivy moaned out, muffled through bite marks and stuffing. She wasn't that mean, not even close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look me in the eye when you're talking to me, pillow princess. I can't hear ya."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy groaned in resignation but didn't turn around. Her body loosely flopped onto Harley's legs, giving in to her situation, her hips beginning to rhythmically thrust forward on instinct trying to claim some type of release. Her dick slipped out of her top and into Harley's smooth lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley sped her fingerwork up, working out a tempo based on Ivy's. Harley didn't have the same instruments as Ivy but it didn't take a Ph.D. to deduce how this was making her feel. Harley felt an ever-so-slight pool of precum dripping on her leg. Disabled by dysphoria and without a hole to fuck, Ivy's entire demeanor gave off a different impression. Like this, she looked more like a wounded animal, unable to care for itself and at the mercy of the world around it. She looked like something brought low, something pathetic and pitiable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need more, I need to…" Pam whined, loud enough to be understood through the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cum? I've heard that one before. Yeah, I'll think about it." Finally, Harley felt like she had the upper hand with her fingers in Ivy's lower parts. "Maybe if you give me that pillow you seem to love making out with, I can up the ante for ya."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a lull and Harley started to slow herself down to nice, long, exaggerated, even strokes inside Ivy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then more silence, followed by slower and slower finger strokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy began grinding her ass into Harley's palm after a few seconds, trying to stir up more action, more stimulation, more anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No dice. Ivy threw down her pillow and last hiding spot, chewed like a dog toy. Perfect. Harley lined her ring finger up for the next big entrance. Ivy had loosened up from before and seemed ready. The singular middle finger exited swiftly while the dual ring and the middle finger entered after with little overall resistance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy looked back, her face colored like a Red Delicious apple. "Is…" she gasped, cut off by staccato dual fingers and her own inescapable, girlish moan. All she managed to squeak out was "T-two?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mhm. This is your reward for acting like a good girl. I mean, we're both bad bi-" Harley forcibly reined herself in before she made a dumb joke that'd ruin Ivy's mood. Gently. All in due time. They've both settled in and can enjoy it, for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you fit in any more?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you do something more to earn it?" Ivy's voice was already breathy and exasperated in contrast to Harley's, under control and calculating while she milked every last ounce out of the situation that she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, shut up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't you at least try, Pammy? For me?" It was the right thing to say and Harley knew it but Ivy would need more incentive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off, no, shut up, just keep going." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, c'mon. My hand is cramping! Why don't you take over for now? If you do that for me then maaaaybe we can see how you do with three." It was a bald-faced lie, Harley had Olympian fingering endurance after years of training but she knew Ivy wouldn't call her out on that. After all, Ivy let her guard down. She had Ivy on the hook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Take over how? I mean, I was kinda, I don't know, feeling it?" Harley stopped moving her fingers entirely, keeping them in position but without motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just don't want to move my hand as much and I, hold on, let me pull out for a second." She slowly removed her fingers out from the sensitive inner lining surrounding them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, first, flip then top off, missy; I want to be able to see you better!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy caved to Harley's demands, stripped off her remaining layer, and laid down onto her back, hips propped up on Harley's legs. She was laid out like a vegetarian buffet, every green dish an hors d'oeuvre or entr</span>
  <span>é</span>
  <span>e to be devoured, from her legs to her bits to her chest to her neck. Briefly skimming her balls, Harley flicked three fingers up towards Ivy's ass. She stiffly parked them near her entrance and used them to motion for Ivy to 'Go.' "Alright, Ive, it's all you. You wanted three fingers, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't sass me, there's only one 'but' I'm focusing on here. Either do it or don't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah but…" Ivy swallowed nervously and she sighed, "yeah." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ivy shifted her body around so that her hips aligned properly with Harley's fingers and gently started pressing down on them with her weight. Harley watched as the ecstatic physical joy cascaded over her partner's face and down her body like a bloom. Realigning had shifted Ivy's guts </span>
  <span>out-of-place</span>
  <span> so she was a little tighter, too. Ivy started slow but picked up speed fast, thrusting down with the hooked angle of Harley's slender fingers. Ivy must really have needed this, judging by her newfound enthusiasm. Each push upwards comically flopped her dick around, like a loose garden hose. A bead of pre would form at her tip and be flung off onto her torso each time, leading to a transparent Jackson Pollock shimmering under the apartment lights. After fighting off the urge to grab her junk, check the sound on it, and ask what the deal is with airplane food, Harley got an idea. A two-front attack. "Here, let me help our 'little visitor' out." Ivy winced again at her words and Harley reached with her free hand and very lightly, very gently wrapped it around Ivy's cock. Her skin was so soft and elegant. There was enough grip to give her a little bit of stimulation but not much and with Ivy this desperate, she'd want more. As with her other hand, Harley didn't move. All the movement had to be Ivy's. If Ivy wanted to cum, she would have to earn it herself and Harley wasn't about to make it easy for her. "Alright, keep going, don't let me stop ya." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley could watch Ivy's wiry frame bob up and down forever, floral sweat dripping off her brow, her tender legs and hips straining like well-oiled machines. When she stretched out, you could just barely see her ribs. Ivy's voice crooned in pleasure as her toes curled. She was getting close. Harley spitefully started to ease her hand ever so slightly upwards, just out of comfortable reach for Ivy, who seemed too preoccupied to notice for whatever reason. "Did something throw your pace off, Red? You seemed like you were really getting into it for a sec." No response outside of the constant low wail she seemed stuck in. What had started as sexually charged groans became pained, trilling pleads as she began to thrust harder and harder for less and less. "You asked me to go gentle on you, right? Well? How's this for gentle?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"P-please, please." The time was finally at hand, within her grasp. She tightened her grasp on Ivy in preparation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, since you're beggin', fine. Just this once though, okay? Close your eyes." None the wiser, Ivy obliged. Silently, Harley disengaged her hand from fingering, leaving Ivy to furiously rut without it. The timing was tight but not impossible. Ivy's breathing became short and sharp, her chest rising up as if being lifted by heavenly aether trying to steal her away. She just needed to reach over, a little bit, to the floor by the sofa and…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Harley, you're- I'm gonna! I'm cumm-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>HONK HONK </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence, only interrupted by the wet splashes of powerful, honeyed orgasm on skin and the lonely, echoless honking of a clown horn. A look of ecstasy and disgust blossomed on Ivy's face. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Harley could feel Ivy's entire body spasm in euphoria, her limbs tightening, her eyes naturally rolling into the back of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Ivy inhaled and evened her gaze with Harley's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's it. No more 'ha ha the horn gag.' We're done with the horn gag. That's the last time. It's not funny." Harley was positively beaming with pride. Ivy was fucking furious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course! Madame The Horn Gag is now going to hand in a tragically early resignation after accomplishing what was, truly, her masterpiece." She puppeteered the horn to look as if it was bowing for an audience, including mock clapping and cheering. Ivy immediately stood up coldly, sparing no time for pleasantries as she walked naked to the shower and probably considered every major life choice leading up to that moment, leaving Harley alone with the now cold and hardened edibles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley helped herself and looked around. In just one day, Ivy's apartment had gone from neat and tidy to absolute mess and most of that was because Harley threw her stuff everywhere. While Ivy showered, Harley cleaned up for her. It was the least she could do. Ivy doesn't usually get upset at Harley's japes but she does usually see them coming. She'd cool off. Later that night, after they both showered, they'd talk about it. They'd work through it. All the highs and all the lows, together.</span>
</p>
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